With mingled feelings of exultation and relief--exultation because he had scared the Hun into ignominious flight, and relief because he had not been compelled to sacrifice his boat and his men on the altar of duty--Derek put the helm hard-a-port, and, without slowing down, began to circle round the spot where the U-boat had disappeared. How he regretted that R.A.F. 1164 B was not fitted with depth-charges. No doubt, too, the kapitan-leutnant of the submerged craft now noticed the omission, but the chances were that he was too scared to attempt to rise to the surface and engage by gun-fire the interfering little spit-fire. He promptly crawled along a few feet above the bed of the sea--slowly, lest the following wake of the U-boat would betray its presence--until he imagined that he was safe from pursuit. Meanwhile the fishing-boats were running for port, the dismasted craft in tow, and steered by a venerable greybeard whose silvery locks were bound with a blood-stained handkerchief, while his "mate", otherwise his fourteen-year-old grandson, was nursing a badly-lacerated leg, and thanking his lucky stars that he was not one of Germany's sons. Having satisfied himself that the fishing-boats were out of danger Derek steered for the harbour. Just as he crossed the bar he saw two coastal airships making seawards. "That's good!" he remarked to the coxswain. "Those fellows will do some very efficient strafing, unless I'm much mistaken. It hasn't been a bad run, has it?" "No, sir," agreed the coxswain. "Quite an enjoyable little picnic." CHAPTER XX The Blimp and the Skate During the initial stages of the life of the R.A.F. Marine Training Depot there was one thing missing. No doubt there were others, but this one, in the eyes of the C.O. and officers, was of great moment. The men would fall in on parade smartly and rapidly; the colours would be hoisted at nine in the morning with éclat; there were sentries posted to pay proper compliments to officers; and a superb gun-metal bell tolled out the hours and half-hours in correct ship's time. But there was no bugler; nor was there a bugle even if a bugler had been forthcoming. And a bugler capable of blowing a loud-sounding bugle was a desideratum. He would become the coping-stone of the building of efficiency. The Major did his level best to obtain some Boy Scout buglers from Fisherton, but, false to their precepts, the youngsters were not prepared to use their breath for two shillings a day on behalf of the R.A.F. when they could earn thrice that amount elsewhere. It looked as if Sableridge Depot would fail to attain that degree of pomp and circumstance when fate, in the guise of the Drafting Officer at Blandborough Depot, played into its hands. Amongst a batch of new arrivals was a gem, a priceless jewel--a man who could blow a bugle.